Thursday, December 10, 2009

God Loves Me. Ask Anyone.

I'm going to preface this by saying I'm one tiny inconvenience from a full-blown meltdown. I think it's a combination of PMS, lack of exercise, and my cheap knock-off faux Lamictal. But regardless (or irregardless, as we say here in the Lower Midwest), I'm feeling a little ragged.

So this morning I woke up to a couple of minor inconveniences that put me into a deep blue funk. It was cold in the bathroom, there was no half-and-half for the coffee, and the second I turned my back on Cooper she gulped down half a notepad. We had a wrestling match for the other half and for a second I think she thought about biting me, until I growled viciously and clamped the hand that wasn't in her mouth firmly over both nostrils.

I finally yanked the bedraggled soggy ex-notepad from her mouth, went into the ice cold bathroom with my unhalf-and-halfed black coffee, and showered for the approximately two minutes that our recalcitrant water heater was willing to oblige.

I growled once more at Cooper on my way out, just because, then grabbed my book and keys and headed to work. Early. So I could attend a Corporate mandated meeting designed to make us more fucking happy at our fucking jobs. When I turned around after locking the door, I realized there was someone sitting on my front stairs.

I see this guy all the time. He's an older black man, walks with a cane, and spends a significant portion of every day sitting on the marble steps of the Post Office across the street. Today he was sitting on my steps with his cane, staring off into space. As I was locking the door, he turned around and said, "Good morning, Young Lady. I was dear, dear friends with Miss Kristie (the previous owner of our house, and a story unto herself), and I am very sorry that she has moved away."

I said good morning back and walked around him to the bottom of the stairs, hoping he wasn't going to be crazy, since I was already cutting it close for getting to the meeting about the fucking happiness at work. He introduced himself, and I said, "I'm Evelyn. Nice to meet you."

And he said, "I know. I've already heard about you."


Then he said, "You know...a person's sexuality is not important. It's what's in their heart. That's what's important."

Ummm...BIG uh-oh? Are we going to discuss sexuality?

He said, "I'm 74 years old and I'm a pastor. I don't smoke or drink, I never robbed nor raped nobody, and I try to help out any way I can. God don't care who you love, he just cares if you have a good heart."

And really...I'm an atheist, and this even warmed my heart. I was settling in for a feel-good "We are the World" conversation.

And then he asked me for $3.00. Or stamps.

My heart was so warmed that I gave him the whole book of stamps. If I'd had $3.00, I would have given him that too.

He should go into sales.


Jazz said...

I'm a atheist too, but he's right it's your heart that counts. Keep up with the stamps. Maybe he's writing to god.

Katie said...

Awww, what a nice way of asking for $3. Good to see you blogging again! I miss hearing your exemplary brand of storytelling on a regular basis.